Deputies are needed, if not particularly wanted, in Zone 6 // VIDEO

By Chris Olwell / The News Herald

Published: Tuesday, October 22, 2013 at 09:28 AM.

Wood might seem emblematic of people who live in Zone 6. He doesn’t need the government or the law, and he’d just as soon be left alone. But he doesn’t see it that way. In fact he doesn’t think he has much in common with his neighbors, few and far between though they may be, and he doesn’t hold them in high esteem either.

“If God put all the sorry people in one place,” Wood said, “he put ‘em out here.”

Francis doesn’t necessarily see it that way either. Aside from the occasional loose animals deputies deal with in Zone 6 that they might not deal with on the beach, the calls they respond to are not much different than anywhere else. It’s not just the law or the government these people want to avoid, he said. It’s everybody.

“They enjoy their lonesome time out here, and they enjoy their privacy,” Francis said as he pulled the unmarked Durango through an open gate and up a private driveway leading to another dilapidated mobile home. “And some of them don’t like cops.”

There are a few other structures on the property. Some properties in Zone 6 are “compound-ish,” he said.

Francis was turning around when a man with no shirt stepped out of a home in better condition to see what was going on. From the rearview mirror, the man appeared none too pleased to have visitors.

FOUNTAIN— In the most remote recesses of Bay County, dilapidated mobile homes can seem more common than people.

For the Bay County Sheriff’s deputies who patrol Zone 6 — the large, sparsely populated area bordered by Bayou George and Calhoun, Washington and Jackson counties — policing here presents a few unique challenges.

The first being that there aren’t many of them, only one or two of them at any given time. It’s a big area where few people live, and the number of calls for service is not a large percentage of the county’s overall call volume, so deputies are positioned where there are more calls.

“The officers who work up here have to be able to operate independently,” Lt. Kevin Francis said as he cruised up U.S. 231 to one of the most remote areas in the county. “You have to, because backup is not very close.”

The back roads are mostly unpaved, and they’re lined with signs that say “No Trespassing,” “No Outlet” and “Dead End.” Pass those and you might find one that shows a bull’s eye and says, “If you can read this, you’re in range.”

Francis pointed out that many homes in the area haven’t bothered to post a house number at the end of the drive; it can be very difficult for deputies to find the house they’re looking for.

At night and during the day, gunfire is not uncommon and, for the most part, completely legal. The deputies patrolling Zone 6 were among the first to be issued rifles, either because they might have to take a longer shot or because they’d likely have to contend with someone with a rifle, Francis said.

“Trying to tell folks who live in the woods … not to shoot guns is pretty tough,” he said. “And to tell you the truth I wouldn’t want to.”

Francis pushed the Dodge Durango through deep loose sand and deep craters — SUVs are “a must up here;” a Crown Vic won’t cut it, and Francis has used the tow strap under the back seat more than once to extricate one that got stuck — and pulled up into Joe Wood’s yard.

Wood is a mechanic. He spends his days working on cars, and he’s currently rebuilding a 1973 Ford Mustang Mach 1 in the garage outside his home. He used to have a garage in Panama City, but he moved to northern Bay County 13 years ago when he tired of the regulations the city government put on his business.

Wood doesn’t have too many good things to say about the government. He can’t stand the people who’d rather collect welfare while he works every day. He likes the cops — most of them anyway — and he knows or knew many of them, but he wouldn’t call the law himself. He’ll handle his own, thank you very much.

He beat the stuffing out of his neighbor, he said. Well, he didn’t say “stuffing.”

Before he did, the man had come by to introduce himself, and Wood wanted nothing to do with it. He told the man, “Your (expletive) ain’t coming over here, and my (expletive) ain’t coming over there, and there ain’t going to be no visit.” He didn’t explain how they eventually came to blows.

Wood might seem emblematic of people who live in Zone 6. He doesn’t need the government or the law, and he’d just as soon be left alone. But he doesn’t see it that way. In fact he doesn’t think he has much in common with his neighbors, few and far between though they may be, and he doesn’t hold them in high esteem either.

“If God put all the sorry people in one place,” Wood said, “he put ‘em out here.”

Francis doesn’t necessarily see it that way either. Aside from the occasional loose animals deputies deal with in Zone 6 that they might not deal with on the beach, the calls they respond to are not much different than anywhere else. It’s not just the law or the government these people want to avoid, he said. It’s everybody.

“They enjoy their lonesome time out here, and they enjoy their privacy,” Francis said as he pulled the unmarked Durango through an open gate and up a private driveway leading to another dilapidated mobile home. “And some of them don’t like cops.”

There are a few other structures on the property. Some properties in Zone 6 are “compound-ish,” he said.

Francis was turning around when a man with no shirt stepped out of a home in better condition to see what was going on. From the rearview mirror, the man appeared none too pleased to have visitors.

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